Memories Unforgotten
by Ethell
Summary: Rose is shocked to find in the TARDIS wardrobe the exact outfit of the stranger she met years before.


**A/N: I was inspired to write this by the Week 1 prompt of Eight x Rose August on Tumblr: Eight is the first Doctor Rose meet. Now, I _do_ realize that I am two weeks late for the prompt, but well, what I thought would be a quick ficlet turned into this really long one-shot... (Also I might have taken some liberties with the architecture of the Royal Opera House to fit the story, sorry about that!)**

* * *

Rose hummed cheerfully as she rummaged in the TARDIS wardrobe room, looking for something appropriate to wear. She was really looking forward to this next trip. She had just finished reading _Oliver Twist_ – there was something about meeting Dickens in person that had made him a favorite of hers – and it had put her in the mood to visit Victorian London once again. The Doctor had joked about werewolves and having to avoid Queen Victoria – and their younger selves – at all costs, but in the end he'd been eager to make the trip as well.

She flitted through the dresses on the racks, taking out a few to hold them up to herself in the mirror before putting them back. The last time they'd been in that time period, she hadn't been dressed for the part, not at _all_. And the first time, with the old him, she'd just grabbed the first thing she'd seen and ran back to meet him in the console room, too excited for the adventure to start to delay it any longer than necessary. This time, however, she intended to take her time choosing. She loved dressing up for a trip. It was all part of the experience, at least for her – _he_ was probably just going to change his tie and call it a day.

As she skimmed through the clothes on the racks she saw a few frock coats mixed in with the women's dresses, and she giggled as she tried to imagine the Doctor wearing that kind of outfit. Somehow, as much as she liked to tease him about the lack of variety in his clothing, she couldn't picture him wearing anything other than his trademark pinstriped suit and trench coat.

She smiled in approval as she came across a lovely red dress with gold trimmings, but as she took it off the rack her eyes fell on the clothes behind it and she froze, the dress falling from her hands.

Velvet frock coat, silky grey cravat, embroidered waistcoat.

She'd seen that outfit before.

* * *

She'd been barely eighteen, in that perfect period after the awkward teenage years but before the responsibilities of adulthood, and she should have been having the time of her life – hanging out with her mates, her future wide open. But instead she sat on a lonely park bench crying her eyes out, heartbroken, her dreams dragged through the mud and her future a bleak prospect stretching out in front of her.

She'd always known that Jimmy wasn't perfect. He was far from a knight in shining armor or a dreamy Disney prince, but then Rose had thought she liked him like that – raw and unfiltered, doing everything loudly and excessively. Sharing that lifestyle with him had been exhilarating, at first. Doing whatever they wanted whenever they chose had felt liberating after years of being a – mostly – obedient little girl.

But then she'd started realizing exactly whatliving life to the fullest meant for Jimmy.

It meant going out and getting drunk every night. It meant disappearing for days with his mates without telling her. It meant saying to anyone who would listen that his band was going to become famous but never actually working to achieve that goal. It meant expecting her to do all the housework around the flat while he did absolutely nothing.

And apparently, it also meant bringing girls home when she was at work, and using _their bed_ to…

Well. She supposed she'd been stupid to think their relationshiphad been the exception to his life of extremes.

She'd walked in on them one day after coming home early from work and she'd been too stunned to say anything. She'd left the flat without a word, wandering the streets for hours before finally collapsing on a park bench in the evening dusk, finally allowing the tears to fall as she contemplated what her life would become.

She'd have to go back to her mum, to start with.

They'd had a fight the last time she'd seen her, when she came to the flat to pick up her things and announce that she was moving out. There had been tension building up between them in the past few months – Jackie disapproving of her daughter's growing relationship with someone she thought was a worthless bum, and Rose annoyed by what she believed was her mum's attempt at controlling her life. The culmination of all that tension had not been pretty to witness.

And now she'd have to go back and admit to her mum that she'd been right about Jimmy all along. It wasn't a pleasant thing to look forward to, but she couldn't afford to be difficult. Not when she had nowhere else to go.

"These are very heavy tears to shed on a beautiful night like this, especially by a lovely young woman such as yourself."

She raised her head from where it was resting in her hands, startled. She had been too invested in her own misery to realize that someone had sat down next to her. She was about to scoff at the line and tell the stranger to shove off when her eyes met his, and something in them stopped her. She couldn't have explained what it was, exactly. Somehow, she knew that those eyes were not looking at her to lead her on or to mock her. They held no pity or inappropriate curiosity, either. What she felt from them was a kind of kinship, a shared understanding of the sorrows of the world and how much weight they can place on one's shoulders.

She stared at those eyes for a moment, almost captivated, before glancing down at the rest of him, and then she laughed in spite of herself.

"What are you wearing?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, the beginnings of a smile dancing around his mouth.

"Why? What's wrong with my clothes?"

"They're just – You're all…" she trailed off, gesturing at his whole ensemble. It wasn't the kind of thing someone saw every day – posh velvet frock coat, embroidered waistcoat and silky cravat, it looked more like something an actor would wear on the set of a period drama.

"I think the word you're looking for is dashing," he replied with a wink.

She laughed again, the sound brighter and stronger than before.

"Yeah, you're right. That's exactly what I was going to say."

She leaned back against the bench, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands. The stranger's arrival had made her forget about her worries, if only for a moment. She took a deep breath, the fresh evening air suddenly invigorating. The man watched her in silence for a moment, a small smile on his face.

"Right," he said suddenly, clapping his hands together and springing off the bench. "Time for an adventure, I should think." He held out his hand to her, beaming in excitement. "Want to join me?"

She looked up at him in stupefaction, unsure how to respond to such a strange offer. An adventure? That sounded a bit… shady. If it had been anyone else saying that to her she would have thought they were up to something, but as she looked up at that strange man, she felt irresistibly drawn to him, to his overflowing enthusiasm and his warm smile, and she knew, with absolute certainty, that she could trust him. She took his hand and used it to pull herself off the bench, unexpected warmth blooming inside her at the contact.

Their hands fit together perfectly.

"What do you have in mind?"

"I feel like exploring, I think. You'd be surprised by how many things there are to discover, even in your own city."

By all means she should be wary – he was a stranger, after all, one who'd decided that a girl sobbing on a deserted park bench was a perfect companion for the evening – but the voice of reason in her head was shoved to the back of her mind as she returned his smile, his eagerness contagious.

"Alright, I'm in! I'm Rose, by the way, Rose Tyler."

"Very nice to meet you, Rose. Now run!"

He tugged on her hand, and she had to follow him as he took off running through the streets. Her initial astonishment at this unexpected action quickly faded away, replaced by bursts of laughter as she was overcome by an exhilarating sense of freedom. They were running for no reason, with no fixed destination, and she was quickly discovering the simple joy of filling her lungs with deep breaths of fresh air, of her muscles straining in her legs, of the sound of the pavement under her feet. People were looking at them like they were mad but for the first time in her life she couldn't care less – in a second those disapproving strangers would be left far behind, never to be seen again, and she wondered why she had ever let such things stop her before.

When they finally slowed down Rose was flushed and panting, but she was feeling better than she had in a long time. She stopped to catch her breath, beaming at the barely winded man in front of her.

"What now?" she asked, eager.

"Hmm, let's see… If I'm not mistaken we should be close to – Ah yes! Come on, follow me!"

He grabbed her hand once more, walking at a swift pace for a few blocks before stopping at the corner of a busy street.

"Here we are," the man said, sweeping his free hand in front of him. "This is our next stop."

She felt her heart drop when she recognized the brightly lit building a few meters away. This… wasn't what she'd been expecting.

"The Royal Opera House? But I'm not…"

She looked at the small groups of people walking up towards its entrance, all posh and elegantly dressed, then down at herself. Her rumpled, workday clothes were definitely not appropriate attire for something like this. It was one thing to disregard strangers' stares of as she ran past them down the street, but quite another to be sneered at for hours at a time.

"Don't worry, you're fine just like that," the man assured her with a smile, understanding her reluctance. "We're not going in by the front door."

Before she could ask what he meant, he had taken her hand – _and he liked doing that, didn't he?_ – pulling her towards an alley running down the side of the building until they reached a side entrance. The man guarding it frowned as he saw them approach.

"Member of the public must use the front door," he warned them as they stopped in front of him. Rose tensed at the guard's stern tone but kept silent when the other man squeezed her hand in reassurance.

"Yes, of course, this is understandable" he nodded with a benign smile. "However, _we_ are not – just wait a moment –where did I put this…"

Rose watched as her companion searched his pockets, trying not to show any of the surprise she was feeling to the guard observing them closely. They _weren't_ members of the public? Who were they, then? Who was _he_?

"Ahh, here it is!" the man exclaimed triumphantly, extracting a slim leather wallet from one of his pockets and presenting it to the guard. "You see?"

The guard opened the wallet with a frown, his eyes widening slightly when he looked inside.

"My apologies, I didn't know who you were," he apologized hurriedly, handing back the wallet and stepping aside. "Please go in, sir, ma'am. The performance is about to start."

"Very well, thank you. Miss Tyler, if you will," he said, giving her a slight bow before offering her his arm.

Despite her perplexity over what had just happened, the chivalry of the gesture dissipated her tension. She smiled brightly at him as she tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, and together they stepped through the door. There was a small deserted corridor beyond, and she waited until the door had closed on them to lean in towards him.

"So, who are you then?" she asked in a low voice. "Someone important? A director for the Opera, or a chairman, or something?"

"Hmm? What makes you say that?" he asked distractedly. She nodded to the pocket where he had put away the wallet, and a look of understanding came across his face. "Oh, because of the paper. Well yes, something like that, I suppose. I didn't check."

She stared at him, puzzled by the odd answer, but all thoughts on the matter fled her mind as they stepped into the main hallway. It was… impressive, to say the least. All around them was a scene of controlled chaos: people running around, carrying cables and costumes and bits of accessories, talking hurriedly in their headset as they went along. No one was giving the two of them the least bit of attention. Rose glanced at the presumably important man walking next to her, wondering if he was offended by this lack of regard, but he seemed perfectly happy to wander the corridors unheeded.

They walked around, peeking inside the numerous rooms, and she hadn't thought he had a destination in mind until he led her towards a small service staircase, his face alight with enthusiasm.

"Come on, this way."

"Where are we going?" she asked, half-laughing and half-perplexed as they began to climb the narrow steps.

"I'm not quite sure, but isn't that the thrill of exploring?"

The stairs spiraled up and up, the narrow slits dimly lighting their path giving them an increasingly striking view of the auditorium below. From time to time the staircase opened up into small nooks and crannies filled with a mishmash of objects – broken spotlights, dusty musical instruments, and crumbling stage accessories that looked like they would fall apart if touched. They paused in their assent to examine the jumble with a sort of hushed reverence, feeling rather like the first explorers to visit the ruins of a long-forgotten city.

The first notes of the orchestra tuning up had just begun to reverberate in the staircase with a haunting sort of echo when the steps led them to a large, curved alcove. There was a window etched in the furthest wall that allowed the lights and sounds from within the opera hall to spilling through to them and Rose approached it, curious to see how far up they had climbed.

She froze, amazed.

They were standing _inside_ the domed ceiling of the opera hall, the room opening up to an impressive depth before her. The audience below was bathed in a shadowy light, creating a murmuring, undulating sea from which the individuals were barely distinguishable.

As she watched, breathless, a hush suddenly fell over the crowd. Though they were far above, the alcove offered a good view of the stage, and she saw the curtains open onto what looked like a naval scene, a single light illuminating a man in the center of the stage.

The singer's voice swelled throughout the room, pure and strong, and Rose only realized that she was holding her breath, speechless, when the man moved to stand next to her.

"This is _Der fliegende Holländer_ – The Flying Dutchman – one of Wagner's famous romantic operas," he whispered into her ear, his tone reverent. "It tells the tale of the Dutchman, cursed to roam the sea for eternity and only allowed to come ashore every seven years to seek redemption. The story begins when the captain Daland is forced to seek a port of refuge because of stormy weather..."

Rose listened, captivated, as he translated the German lyrics, his hushed but passionate voice only adding to the experience. During a small break in the song he moved to sit down on the small ledge in front of the window, gently tugging on her hand to invite her to do the same, and they settled comfortably next to each other to watch as the Dutchman walked on stage. She would never have expected to enjoy an opera before, but the majesty of the voices and orchestra resonating inside the dome combined to the warmth of the man sitting next to her made her heart soar.

Eventually the curtains fell and the lights came back on, and she roused herself from the captivated trance she'd fallen under. The intermission had come so quickly! Had it really been that long already? She was about to sit up and stretch her cramped muscles when she suddenly realized the position she was in. She must have shifted during the performance, because instead of sitting next to the man she was now leaning against him, her back to his chest, while he kept her secure with an arm around her waist.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..." she stammered as she scrambled to move away, a blush rising to her cheeks. He chuckled softly, tightening his hold on her.

"Be careful, I don't want you to fall. I don't mind staying like this, if you want. You seemed comfortable."

She hesitated for a beat, letting out a shaky breath she hoped he couldn't hear as she leaned back against him. She wasn't used to simple gestures like this anymore, hadn't shared a moment of intimacy that didn't come loaded with expectations and disappointments with anyone in a long time, and she hadn't realized how much she craved it until now. She relaxed in the man's embrace, enjoying the gentle pressure of his arms around her waist, the way she could feel his chest rise and fall with his breathing against her back. From underneath came the voices of the crowd, rising up to them in a constant hum, and she closed her eyes, feeling warm and content.

She must have drowsed off, because when she opened her eyes again the man was gently shaking her and the lights had dimmed once more. She turned her head to look at him, a sleepy smile on her face.

"Sorry to fall asleep on you like that."

"It's perfectly understandable. You seem to have had quite a day."

The smile slipped off her face as the day's events came rushing back to her. How was it even possible that she'd forgotten…? She realized that in the past few hours she hadn't thought about Jimmy even once – her mind had been too full of excitement the man had suddenly brought to her life.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry," apologized the man, noticing her reaction to his offhand comment.

She shook her head with a half-shrug, averting her eyes from the concern in his.

"No, it's alright. I just –"

Just then the curtains opened on the lonely figure of a woman, and Rose fell silent as her melancholy voice resonated all the way up to the domed ceiling. The almost tangible sorrow of the singer stirred something in her, and as she listened her thoughts strayed to her own heartbreak.

She felt… considerably better than she had at first, in those first hours after her discovery. She was still grieving, of course, but instead of the overpowering, almost wild devastation she had felt at first, her anguish had now lessened to a state of sad resignation. Maybe she had been ready for this breakup for a while now, without realizing it, and that it was only through her own obstinacy that she hadn't left Jimmy sooner. The truth was, she didn't love him anymore. She wasn't sure she'd ever really loved him – no, what she'd felt for him had been nothing more than an infatuation, born partly out of a childish desire for rebellion. It hadn't been love, but that didn't mean he hadn't hurt her. No, despite what should have been her better judgement, she'd given him her heart, and he'd trampled upon it ruthlessly.

She would heal, though. She was too strong, worth too much to let herself be ruined by him. But to heal this dull ache needed to be acknowledged.

"I – I met Jimmy when I was still in high school. All the girls thought he was so amazing: he was older, cooler. He was a rebel and a musician, and that combination for a girl like me was just dynamite waiting to explode…"

Without really meaning to she began to tell her story, her eyes fixed on the stage without really seeing it, her low whispers at times almost lost in the harmony of voices coming from below. She knew he was listening, though. His hand was drawing soothing patterns on her arms, his soft, steady breath over the nape of her neck giving her the strength to keep talking.

"...And that was it, I couldn't take it anymore. I was so furious that I slapped him and stormed out, but after that I didn't know what to do or where to go. I wandered in the city, and slowly my anger dissolved into hurt, and then into misery. I kept thinking about all the time I wasted on him, all the things I'd given up to be with him and I thought – that's it. This is how I ruined my life."

She was silent for a moment, quietly wiping the few tears that had escaped from her eyes. The man must have noticed because his arms tightened around her and she relaxed against him with a sigh.

"It's not that bad, though. I'm better off without him, I know _that_ at least. And I haven't lost everything. I still have my mum, for one. I'll go back to her, and I know she'll welcome me back with open arms, I know she will. She loves me, I'm lucky to have her."

"Oh, Rose. You're so incredible. I don't think you realize it yourself. Making mistakes is only natural; it is part of being alive. But what's remarkable is how you learn from these mistakes, how you use them to grow stronger. I am absolutely not worried about you. You'll be more than alright – you'll be amazing."

She shifted in his arms to look at him, her breath catching in her throat. How could he have so much faith in her? People had always told her that she couldn't change who she was or where she was from, that she should just accept it and not reach for more, but he made her want to forget all of that. He gave her hope that if she worked hard enough she could do anything, that if she strived for it she could become the best version of herself.

She smiled brightly at him through her tears, feeling much lighter than before – somehow, she had the impression her heartbreak was beginning to heal already.

"Thank you," she whispered, leaning over to press her lips to his cheek.

When she pulled back he had a softened look on his face that made her heart skip a beat, and she quickly turned back towards the stage to hide her reddened cheeks. After a moment he leaned forward to whisper the English words of the song in her ear, and they watched the rest of the opera in much the same way as before – the only exception being that this time, she was more than aware of the body pressed against her, so comfortable and so warm.

They snuck out once the performance was over, retracing their steps down the stairs and into the maze of corridors below, the scene a more subdued chaos this time as people packed up for the night. They nodded to the guard on their way out, walked calmly to the street corner, and without a word passing between them grabbed each other's hand and took off running into the night.

They stopped next to a Tube station, both of them giggling like children, but the laughter died on her lips as she gazed up at him. This evening had been extraordinary, and she had the nagging feeling that once it was over, nothing close to it would ever happen to her again – and worse, that she'd never see _him_ again. Everything inside her rebelled against that notion and she bit her lip, wondering what she should say to keep this from happening. In the end he spoke before her.

"Thank you for accompanying me tonight, Rose. You helped make this a truly memorable evening."

"Well, thanks for asking me to come with you," she replied with a small laugh. "I never thought I could have so much fun, so soon after… you know, everything else that's happened."

His eyes softened into that gentle expression that always seemed to warm her from the inside. He opened his arms in invitation and she walked into them without hesitating, sighing as she took in the smell of him, the solid feeling of his embrace.

"I'm glad I could help," he whispered, his breath ghosting over the nape of her neck. "What will you do now?"

"Get some order back in my life, I guess. Everything's chaotic right now, I can't go on like this. I'll make peace with my mum, with my friends. Get some boring old job for now, too, but maybe after a while I'll have saved enough to go back to school. It doesn't sound like much, I know, but…"

"It sounds perfect," he assured her, pulling back with his hands on her shoulder to look her in the eye. "You know what you want and what you need to do, and that takes more strength than you realize. I told you, Rose, you'll be amazing."

As she held his gaze, so earnest and so kind, something inside her twisted in yearning. Yes, she did know what she wanted – more of this, more of _him_ , and that settled it. She _had_ to ask.

"Do you think – do you think we could see each other again? If you want to, I'd love it if we could – have more adventures like tonight, together."

She waited with bated breath, feeling more nervous than she could ever remember being while asking someone out. But then, he wasn't like anyone else, either. She felt his hands tighten on her shoulders, unreadable emotions flashing through his eyes as he seemed to hesitate. Every second of his prolonged silence increased her nervousness. What had she been thinking? Why would he want to –

"Rose, don't think that I don't want to see you again, because I do, very much so. But I'm sorry to say I won't be in London for much longer, and I'm not sure when I'll be back."

She released the breath she'd been holding, her heart dropping in her chest. She'd been expecting something like this, as unconsciously as it might have been. He didn't seem like the kind of person to sit still for too long.

"Where are you going?" she asked, interested despite her disappointment.

"I'm not… exactly sure, really. Anywhere my travels take me."

She nodded in acknowledgment. She didn't really understand his odd answer but she knew he was telling the truth.

"I wish I could travel too. It's been a dream of mine since I was a little girl – to see the world, to know how people live away from London."

"I'd love to take you with me. There are so many wonders I could show you, so many things to experience… But you're right, of course you are. There are things you need to do here, first."

His choice of words, as well as the wistfulness in his eyes, renewed her hopes and gave her the courage to ask again.

"Maybe… if you ever come to London again, in a few months, or – or in a year, even, you could… drop by to see me? Maybe then, I'd be able to…" she trailed off, but they both knew what she was saying.

He gave her a small smile in which she could see both longing and regret, and the thought came to her suddenly: _He doesn't usually ask twice._

But then he hadn't actually _asked_ her, had he? So maybe –

He cupped her face in his hands and gently pressed his lips to her forehead. He pulled back a few seconds later, his expression so tender that she felt like she couldn't breathe. He looked at her as though he wanted to commit her features to memory, his eyes wavering as they lingered on her lips, and it was more than she could take. She raised herself onto her toes, holding his gaze as she inched closer to give him ample time to react. His breath hitched as he watched her with slightly widened eyes but he made no move to stop her, and after a few seconds she finally sealed the distance between them in a kiss.

It was soft and chaste, their lips moving ever so gently against each other, but it made her heart pound in a way it never had before – not when she'd had her first kiss behind the school when she was thirteen – not when Jimmy had finally agreed to go out with her – never.

It ended all too soon, their breath mingling together as his lips hovered close to hers for a moment. He finally pulled back, and the gentleness of his hands as they slid away from her face made her experience a new, sweet kind of pain. Her hands were clutching the lapels of his coat and she smoothed them down before letting go – she couldn't remember reaching out to grip them in the first place.

"Alright, Rose, it's a promise," he whispered, his eyes intense and fixed on hers. "I'll come back to London in a few months, and this time I'll take you with me, if you still want to."

"I will. I promise, I will."

He nodded, reaching out to cup her cheek one last time before forcing himself to step away from her.

"Until we meet again, then," he said, and then he was gone.

She was lying in her old bed in her mum's flat, later that night, when she realized he'd never told her his name.

* * *

Two years later, in the wardrobe room, Rose stared at the clothes on the hanger, frozen in place.

There, before her very eyes, was the outfit of the stranger who'd taken her to the opera and given her one of the most memorable night of her life, the mysterious man she'd never been able to find again, no matter how hard she'd tried.

For a moment she wondered if she wasn't just imagining things. How could these be the same clothes? Maybe they just looked similar. Maybe her memory was faulty. Maybe – maybe some weird alien pollen had spread from one of the gardens in the TARDIS and was causing her to hallucinate, but no – she reached out with a shaky hand to touch the clothes and she knew she was right.

It was all there – the frock coat, the embroidered waistcoat, the silk cravat, even the high-collared white shirt he'd been wearing. She brushed the frock coat with her fingers, the feeling of the velvet exactly how she remembered it, the memory of smoothing it down after their kiss still vivid in her mind.

But how did this end up here? Her breath caught as she recalled some things from that night – the thin wallet containing his identification and how he wasn't sure what was written on it – the fact that he didn't know where he was going or when he was going back – the _running_. How had she not realized –? Could that man actually have been –?

"Rose, have you picked a dress yet? Because I was thinking we could go lower class for this one, you know, to get the authentic Oliver Twist experience."

She startled at the sound of the Doctor's voice and whirled around to face him. He'd been walking towards her, an enthusiastic smile on his face, but he paused, frowning, when he saw the look on her face.

"Are you alright? What's wrong?" His gaze drifted down to the outfit she'd been looking at, surprise and confusion flitting through his face to be quickly replaced by his usual mask of easy-going cheerfulness. "Rose, why are you looking at men's clothes? I mean, you're free to do whatever you want, of course, but I'm not sure cross-dressing is really the right look for you."

She shook her head and swallowed thickly, ignoring his attempt at a joke.

"This outfit… Doctor, what's it doing here?"

"What's it doing…?" he repeated with a puzzled frown, clearly at a loss as to what was going on. "Well, in fact, I used to wear this in my eighth body. I was a bit of a romantic back then. You should have seen me, I looked like –"

"A hero from a Victorian novel," Rose cut him off in a breathless voice. "With curly brown hair, kind blue eyes and such a gentle smile… Oh God, it was you. This whole time, I was – I wondered… and it was you! One evening you approached a young girl crying in a park, you took her hand and told her to run. You brought her to the Opera House and you watched Wagner together from a window in the ceiling. You said you had to leave and promised to come back again in a few months, but she never saw you again – or at least that's what she thought, all this time."

"Rose," he breathed out, stunned. "What –?"

"I don't understand, Doctor. Why didn't you tell me? When I met you for what I _thought_ was the first time in that basement in Henrik's, why did you act like you didn't recognize me? Did you – did you not want to see me again? Is that why you never came back, even though you promised you would? I looked for you everywhere after that night at the Opera, I never gave up hope, and you didn't even… But then after we beat the Nestene Consciousness you clearly wanted me as a companion again because you asked me to come with you – twice! – so why didn't you tell me…"

Her words dissolved into tears as the shock of her discovery mixed in with all the feelings she'd kept buried from that night long ago overwhelmed her. The Doctor took a step in her direction before stopping, distress and confusion plainly written on his face.

"I don't – Rose, I don't remember any of this, I never… I think I would recall…" He trailed off as he ran a hand through his hair, his eyes wide and unfocused. "Come on, think, think, _think_. How can this be possible…? _Oh_."

He froze, his hand still in the act of tugging at his hair, a look of pained understanding dawning on his face.

"Yes, that must be it. There's no other way. But it's a twisted joke for the universe to make at our expense," he whispered, talking to himself more than to her. He shook his head and exhaled shakily before looking up at her. "Rose, I know this explanation will sound… far-fetched, but it's the only one that makes any sort of sense. You see, my eighth body had this… propensity for losing his memory. You'll say it's a strange thing to have a talent for, but it happened too often over the course of this particular regeneration to be a coincidence. So my guess is that something must have made me forget meeting you, and that those memories were never restored. Because believe me, I could _never_ have forgotten you on my own."

She had been listening to him with a frown on her face, and he watched her anxiously in the tense silence that followed his explanation. She nodded after a few seconds, her mouth twisting down in a sad smile.

"Yeah, that makes sense, I guess. And really, considering the life you lead, I'm not surprised that something like that would happen to you."

The Doctor let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, relieved that she believed him.

"You know me. Always looking for trouble, regardless of which version of me it is."

"Yeah," she agreed with a small chuckle.

She took a hesitant step towards him and he immediately opened his arms to her. A more natural smile bloomed on her face as she closed the distance between them, and he felt the tension drain out of both of them as they melted into each other's embrace.

"Doctor?" she murmured against his chest after a moment of silence.

"Hmm?"

"Does that mean you'll never remember meeting me that night? Because it – it makes me sad, to be the only one who does."

His arms tightened around her as his hearts clenched in his chest. He wanted to remember, too. He cherished every single moment spent with her, and the thought that their true first meeting was missing from his memory was a painful one for him to bear.

"There… might be a way," he whispered in her hair, "but I'm not sure you'd agree to it. It's – well…"

He hesitated, and she pulled back to look at him, her eyes searching his.

"What is it?"

"I – I'd have to go inside your head. If I could see your memories of that night, it's possible that it might jolt my own. It's not guaranteed to happen, mind you, but it's the only thing I can think of to –"

"Okay."

Her quick approval made him start, his hearts beginning to beat faster in his chest as she looked at him with a steady, determined gaze.

"Are you sure? This is a very intimate thing, going into someone else's head, so you might not want –"

"I don't mind if it's you, Doctor. I _want_ you to. The memory of that night belongs to both of us, after all."

He nodded once, swallowing nervously as he raised a hand to her temple. She closed her eyes in anticipation and he paused to look at her, awed at the trust she placed in him. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Alright, imagine that your mind contains a multitude of rooms, and put your memory of that evening into one of its own. Leave the door to that room open and close the rest. I swear I won't look at anything you don't want me to."

"I know," she said with a smile before giving him a small nod. "Alright, I'm ready."

He took one last shaky breath and slipped into her mind.

It was warm and bright, exhilarating and soothing all at once, and his senses were so overwhelmed by the feeling of _Rose_ that it took all he had to remain focused on the task at hand. As he looked around he saw a room in front of him, the door wide open in welcome, and he stepped through it eagerly.

Rose's memory of that evening was as sharp as though it had happened yesterday. He heard his voice as he startled her on the bench, saw himself through her eyes as he offered her his hand and as she started to run after him. And then he didn't need to watch anymore because _he remembered_.

She had captured his attention from the moment he'd seen her crying alone in that park. That body had been more apt at sensing timelines and hers shimmered in front of him, strangely inscrutable but so bright, radiating a warmth that was so much at odds with the misery she currently projected that he couldn't help but feel the need to comfort her.

And then… She'd taken his hand and ran with him so willingly that it awoke something inside him, something he hadn't felt this strongly in a long time. He'd wanted to see her smile, to hear her laugh, to make her eyes shine in delight as they took in the wonders of the universe.

She opened up to him, confiding in him the reason why she'd been crying, and what he'd felt then had been… overpowering. In the sudden onslaught of feelings the predominant one had been the urge to protect her from harm at any cost, to take her away from this place and keep her safe with him, and that sudden desire had given him pause.

Because the mere idea that this bright, lovely young woman would be safe with him was ridiculous.

He'd been at war with himself for the rest of the opera. Should he invite her to travel with him? Part of him wanted to, so much. She'd make the perfect companion. He'd grown so weary of life in recent years, but seeing the world through her eyes would make everything appear new and exciting again. And he felt so drawn to her…

But that was also the reason why a part of him wanted to keep her as far away as possible. He had learned the hard way that there were only two possible endings for people who chose to travel with him: they either left him of their own will, or were robbed of their chance to do so through less than pleasant means. There was no reason she would be any different, and he didn't think he could stand the pain of losing yet another companion. Traveling together would do neither of them any good in the end.

He was still hesitating when she made the choice without him having to even ask, telling him that there were things in her life she needed to put to rights. He'd resolved then not to ask her – her determination to make peace with her mother and improve her life were admirable. He shouldn't stand in the way of the happy life he was sure she'd lead without him.

But then she'd kissed him.

And that… that had changed everything.

He didn't understand how he could feel this way towards a human he'd only known for a few hours, but he did, and while that completely terrified him, it also thrilled him to his core. His lonely, scarred hearts sang at the touch of her lips, and he'd known then that there was no way he could stay away.

He had gone back to his TARDIS with every intention of skipping forward a few months to meet her again, but the moment he'd entered, all sorts of alarms were flashing in the console room, the old girl refusing to take him anywhere other than the destination setting off so many warnings. He had been more than reluctant – after all, the TARDIS was a time machine, so why couldn't he deal with this problem later? But then again that argument went both ways – he could easily go meet Rose after taking care of this – so rather than arguing with his ship he'd let her take him where she pleased.

And that's the moment he'd lost his memory. His recollection of those events was murky, Rose's own memories not being there to help him any longer. He had the vague idea that the TARDIS had been attacked, scarring his mind through his connection with her. They'd both been badly injured but managed to escape by the skin of their teeth. Their subsequent recovery had been long and, as he now knew, incomplete. He _had_ realized that he couldn't really remember the events leading up to their injuries, but he hadn't thought it was really important at the time.

After all, what was one mere evening on Earth? He had no idea he'd even been there.

"Oh, Rose," he breathed out, gently slipping out of her mind. He cupped her cheek as she slowly opened her eyes and rested his forehead lightly against hers. "When we parted, I had every intention of jumping forward a few months to see you again the moment I got back to the TARDIS, but there were all these alarms and, well, you know how the old girl gets when she decides she wants to go somewhere. I figured I'd deal with the problem first and go to you after, but I never thought… If I had, I never would have let the TARDIS leave Earth before I had you with me."

Her arms looped around his neck, anchoring her to him as she took a shaky breath.

"You know, maybe the TARDIS knew what she was doing. If I'd traveled with you back then, I wouldn't have been there to meet the other you, freshly out of the Time War. I think – I think _that_ you needed me more, and the TARDIS knew that."

The ship hummed soothingly around them. The Doctor sent her a jab of annoyance in his mind, he knew he couldn't be mad at mad for long.

"I think you're right. I would have been so happy to travel with you, in my eighth body, but… I'm not sure I would have survived without you in my ninth. Oh, Rose, I'm so sorry I made you wait for me all that time."

She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling, and all the things he'd felt in his eighth body, all the things he still felt in his tenth, came bubbling up, threatening to spill out.

"But you kept your promise in the end, right? That's the important thing."

She smiled at him, her tongue teasing him as it slipped out of the corner of her mouth, and that was it. That tongue spelled the end of his restraint.

"Well then. Can I do something that's a long, long time coming?"

She nodded, her breath catching, and this time he was the one closing the distance between them to press his lips to hers, like he should have done years and years ago.

He wouldn't let this second chance pass by.


End file.
